


We Watched From Afar

by PipesFlowForeverandEver



Series: Hymns of Struggle [18]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Body Horror, Existential Angst, romance? maybe?, the story occurs over the course of the main series this is a part of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21631765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipesFlowForeverandEver/pseuds/PipesFlowForeverandEver
Summary: Two souls merely a part of the studio- one from the lifeblood and the other forever escaping from it. One searcher tries to help another newly born as bigger things happen in the studio around them. The ink demon is hiding something just behind the surface of the ink, and so they watch Sammy and his undead victim of sacrifice learn about their existence and how to care for each other just as they do.Takes place alongside the Hymns of Struggle plot.
Series: Hymns of Struggle [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/910524
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	We Watched From Afar

**Author's Note:**

> So, this work can probably be read without reading the main series, but it might be more exciting or make more sense if you have. Either way, this is an idea I've had for a long time and I hope I can pull it off! I want this to be at least a few chapters in the end.

Their hands were slipping, and with it, everything else. As the waves of black ink swallowed the two, it cared no more about them nor their story than it did that of all the others who met the same fate. No names, no memories, no hope. But to take away their humanity was impossible. And to be human with nothing left to you but that…is horrible.

The black filled the spaces between their fingers until flesh and ink were no different.

///

The puddles were an echo, with no walls to absorb the sounds of suffering. Was it suffering anymore if this is just how it is? He knew nothing else besides the way the whispers of others filled the ghost’s mind and restlessness moved his lips with the same words, and he then passing the meaningless message to all those that in turn heard him. He could feel, in shocks of consciousness, that those of the hivemind were somewhere beyond, but something doesn’t exist if you’ve never seen it for yourself.

He had convinced himself it was less lonely this way, to not try to fight for whatever else could be outside the writhing, sightless mass of souls. His worst fear was he’d keep swimming…and swimming…and swimming…without ever finding the edge of the world.

But that was about to change.

 **Breath was heavy,** and it shook him to the core as it walked by. **The ink demon-** every so often they’d feel his presence. Of course, the ink was everywhere, and so his godliness was always exerted upon them, even if he had never left the puddles to see **his** glory. But there were times where he shook the universe. **There were times were he tore it apart.**

With his **heaves** replacing the empty thoughts of the ink, this was hinting to be one of those times.

Even with no place to run to, no way to brace for impact, he felt fear strike his heart and could only wait for it to pass.

…

…

It never did, like it always had. And for the first time since the ink consumed him, this ghost began to feel panic.

* * *

Even though searchers and those of the puddles are in essence no different, the experience is what separates the two. They pull themselves apart from the countless others, and in search of individuality, answers, and hope, they never find it at all. She looked in the broken glass and saw a face that wasn’t hers. She didn’t remember what hers used to be, of course, but the sheer otherness of this featureless, dripping body couldn’t have been right.

What she did remember was the puddles. She had lost something there- her mind, most likely- and with that, there was nothing left to stay for. The hollowness of that thing slipping from her fingers- …ah, she didn’t have those either in the puddles- pushed her to the surface. Floorboards were like the tops of waves, and her arms were never able to drag a form beyond her waist much like someone adrift at sea. The searcher was lonely, the only glimpses of other creatures being monsters as grotesque as her, and their voices were either unintelligible or said things she couldn’t understand. But this world was tangible, even if it was every bit as frightening, and so with no sense of time she

She convinced herself it was better this way. Any body must be better than none at all, and being in a world where she had senses all her own was more comforting than voices swirling in her head.

…Well that wasn’t entirely true. Every so often she groaned and felt her barely solid neck be thrown back like a chain was trying to pull her away, down to the puddles once more. And when she had to hide from **him,** that pull was stronger than ever, like drowning hands were taking her with them. But the searcher resisted every time, because there was nothing there waiting for her.

But that was about to change.

* * *

Sammy carried the woman down to his ritual chamber, aware of the demon’s shadow looming closer and closer. She may have breathing, but by this point she was but a body to be sacrificed; it would be good to take her out of her misery.

The searcher had only ever seen one other like she did, with skin and blood and bruises. She couldn’t help but be drawn in, hand curled at the doorway to peek inside. The prophet’s prayers normally made no sense, but she still appreciated the sense of…sacredness. That something in this matters. With the way he set the dying girl down so delicately, dripping hands cupping the chin underneath her hazy eyes gazing up through the fog of her slow death, she must have mattered quite a bit.

**Someone else would agree.**

As the ink demon’s tendrilled aura covered the walls, not even the searcher was brave enough to stay within his sight. Soon she was but a puddle herself, and he passed by **step…by step…by step.**

And as she held nonexistent breath for whatever happened next, someone in their desperation- for the first time in his life- grasped onto something to drag him out.

The voices, the anticipation, had been too much, and crawling from onto her shoulders was not one searcher but two. He spattered to her side, a throat heaving with lungs full of black water. He could see his fingers.

He had _fingers._

He could _see._

A hand was pressed as well as it could be against his new mouth, lest he interrupt whatever the ink demon do. She kept it there, and his jaw gaped underneath her shapeless palm as he witnessed something humanoid for the first time.

It seemed they had both been under long enough for their god to leave, as silence alone prevailed and there was no more of his **drips** raining down from the ceiling. All they could hear was the woman crying and the prophet’s anger.

Something had gone wrong; they both could see that much. So with that, one searcher pulled the other by the arm and ducked into the cracks of the floor, taking them both away. Just like that, their bleak lives were disrupted for good, and neither would be alone again.


End file.
